Elegy
by LePetitPappillon
Summary: And just for a second, warmth came—all the way from the sun, and the cold breeze stopped in respect. And Yao looked at those gorgeous plants asleep and drenched in the picturesque snow. And he looked at all those cars passing by, just as he used to on Ivan's porch.
1. Chapter 1

The bathroom was cold because it was winter.

Ivan's face sank into the outline of the bowl, limp and helpless like an animal sentenced to execution. The light had left out of his jewel blue eyes. The blond bleached out of his light golden hair. And another round of throw-up dumped out of his mouth, the fresh stomach acid burning every part of his insides with the hell only emptiness could provide.

His chest was heaving when the shakes finally started. They came like the aftermath of an earthquake. First there was the break, then the surface waves that destroyed everything and broke buildings and shattered bones.

Yao opened the door in a contained panic and wrapped his friend's shoulder in a heavy blanket, even though his forehead had been about a thousand degrees. The doctors said the cold wasn't good during times like this.

Ivan was steps from Unconsciousness.

"Do you want me to call a doctor?"

Yao's voice bounced around in Ivan's head. It echoed six times before stopping.

"Ivan-"

The Russian was trying to make words. But all he achieved was a cold sweat and a dumb bumbling. The sight finally bled out from his eyes and all the noises, temperature, and feeling went away for a slick dreamland of black and nothing. This was the most peaceful part. When Ivan spread out his long arms and the black hole came to embrace him, even though the fresh hell would come again when those sore eyes reopened.

Yao ran to the kitchen and got the phone.


	2. Chapter 2

Somehow, they got that large Russian man back into Yao's tiny car. The seat was pushed as far back as it would go, and still, his legs were bent up a little bit. Ivan's face crunched some, and his head leaned back against the seat while his clear blue eyes shut up.

"You didn't need to take me to the doctor."

The clock read little blue numerals showed against the radio.

"I was worried about you." The keys turned and the engine started up. It shuttered with a violent shake and either of them sat quietly as they waited for the car to heat up.

The Chinese man leaned his head back as well. If you saw him, you'd probably think he hadn't slept in years. There was heavy baggage underneath his eyes, probably from months ago or stress or insomnia or all three at once. His thick black hair came apart in tangle and frayed at the ends, like someone had come by and burned them with a match's flame.

Ivan looked out the driver's side window.

"I'm sorry I never drive us anywhere. I'm actually concerned about my car because it's been so long. I wonder if it even works anymore."

"I'm sure it's fine. If you want, I'll drive it for you. I have to run some errands today anyway." Yao rose up a little bit and placed his hands on the steering wheel. "Would you mind if I drop you off at your house and then go over to mine? I have to check on my cat and make sure she hasn't torn something apart. I think she needs more food in her bowl."

"Of course." And for a brief second, Ivan looked out the other window with gravity. Ivan's enormous hand moved through his light blond hair and his teeth clenched as pain ripped through his organs. From his chest all the way down to his knees.

Then it went away as fast as it came.

"Ivan, I already told you, you don't have to worry. You'd do the same for me."

They pulled out of the hospital parking lot and onto the main road. The tires seemed to struggle with the piles of snow everywhere.

Ivan didn't say anything back. Because they had had the conversation a thousand times before.

The drive commenced in a long quiet. While Yao watched the road, Ivan watched all the little houses that lined it, with smoke coming out of their chimneys and children scattered haphazardly, fighting with snowballs and drowning inside the six layers of coats their mothers made them wear. They had all walked to school this morning, at least most of them, while their parents took to their younger siblings. Papa probably went to work, and if Mama didn't have any babies to nurse or dress or feed, she might take her other sons and daughters to school.

He could hear their loud, lively voices yelling to one another. In fearless, fresh Russian. Sometimes they would experiment with curse words and ruin them.

His lips rubbed together.

"I think I'm feeling up to making dinner."

It took a time for an answer. Yao's sharp light brown eyes were all over the space in front of him, making sure one of those damn kids didn't lose a ball or something and come bounding to the grill of their death.

"I mean, I don't know if you want to stick around."

"I'll stay. But if you change your mind, that's okay too. I can always make some of those noodles you like."

A few minutes later they pulled up to Ivan's house and Yao parked out front, turning off the car and coming to Ivan's side. He was also dressed up in at least three layers and had some snowflakes caught inside his hair, the way a sticker bush clings to your clothing. His boots stamped on the drive way, as if he shook the cold out his bones and opened the door.

This part was always a struggle. Ivan was large even by Russian standards and Yao only reached up to his shoulders. Whenever they stood next to one another, Ivan towered over his friend who was smaller and Chinese and maybe even unlucky because _he_ had the misfortune of being the healthy one.

But as always, Yao was unfazed. Even though he hadn't got to have his tea this morning and ate breakfast from a hospital cafeteria.

Gloved hands clapped together.

"Ready?"

"Only if you're ready."

"Well, I'm always ready. Give me your arms."

So Ivan held out those limbs and Yao pulled and pulled, getting his friend into a standing position and then bracing him at the hip.

Sometimes walking was hard, and sometimes it was like nothing. Like all the things people normally do. Sometimes Ivan could get in and out of his chair and turn on the television. Or turn it off. He could get into the bathroom and not have to embarrass the piss out of himself by calling for help. Sometimes, Ivan even felt like _exercising_. Going outside and having a snow ball fight or building a fort or doing something useless, because it was the only advantage of having winter three of four seasons.

But today was not one of those days.

Today, every joint and piece of cartilage locked up like they were cemented together and his legs worked about as well as tree trunks. They had to be careful too. The ground was slick with cold and sleet. If Ivan dropped something would break. It's not like it hadn't happened before. And this time, Yao wouldn't have the benefit of calling a doctor first and escorting him inside that tiny red car, with the door still open. The paramedics would have to come rip him up from the ice and take him inside an ambulance. With all those showy lights and everything.

They got to the front door and Ivan caught his breath. His arms held onto the frame.

"I can take it from here."

"Ivan, come on."

"No—I just want to try it."

Yao refused to let go.

So Ivan gave up and allowed him to play as the crutches as they walked over to the small pink chair positioned in the center of the living room.

An enormous sigh came as soon as that body sank into the worn out cushion. Immediately, Yao fetched a cup of hot tea, medicine, and a blanket and gave it all to the practically unconscious body on the seat. Yao turned on the television, and then he turned to look at Ivan.

"Hey, I'm going to go while the car's still heated up. Call me if you need anything."

"Don't worry about it."

Then, a nod. And the Chinese man went outside and stood on the front porch. From where Ivan sat, he could see his friend light up a cigarette and stare out into the snow drenched landscape for a healthy minute before he forced his legs to move forward. He spoke to himself in Chinese and the car door opened and shut.

Then Yao pulled away.

Ivan looked to the television. Then his fire place with numerous little matroshka dolls piled onto it. All his communist relics from a couple decades ago.

The entire house seemed dusty. Even his clothing felt like it was buried in cobwebs and the scent of a closet. The moth balls were stale.

His blue eyes closed and Ivan slept to the sound of a game show.


	3. Chapter 3

Yao was half asleep at the table that morning. Since Ivan wasn't much for conversation, his lids touched together and he bobbled back and forth. If Yao leaned too far forward, those eyes would open up with a jolt. He might share a word or two with Ivan and then go back to doing it again.

The bags his lashes were forced to carry were heavy and dense like cancer. They stuck out of his face the way a cockroach would crawl around on a pristine white floor. But his mouth never opened with a complaint. There was always just a slight curve of his lips and that heap of sympathy.

Yao had even stayed over last night. Unconscious in the living room chair with the television on while Ivan slept the best he could. The television never asked him to do that. But his friend stuck like an out-of-place portrait on those old, dusty walls.

You'd find him more often an Ivan's house than anywhere else.

Now Yao washed up the dishes while the other sat in the small dining room chair. Quiet again. But there was a pregnancy in the air and either of them would probably fill it in a matter of seconds.

Blue eyes glanced to the crippling cold outside the window.

"Yao."

"Hmm?"

Pause. While his mouth gaped some. It was accompanied but a shot of pain. Small and short and more intense than usual.

"I think." Floundering. "I think I'm going to have assisted suicide."

"What?" The water was turned off with a slap. "_What are you talking about?_"

"Well, in Switzerland you can go-"

"I get that part! Just—_Why would you do that?_"

There wasn't a response from the other side of kitchen. The chair just spat out a creak underneath the weight. Ivan bit his bottom lip and took in the sad sight of his worn house slippers.

Yao stared straight at him.

"Ivan! Don't you have any hope of getting better? If you give up like that— And what if someone finds a cure? Death isn't something you can undo-"

"Yao-"

"Where did you even get this idea in your head? Tell me you're kidding, please."

There was a hush rubberstamped under intensity.

Ivan's deep voice picked up slow.

"Yao, if I believed they would find a cure, I'd consider staying the course. But there's just something in me that knows it's not going to happen."

"_You can't know_. They might find a cure tomorrow—or invent a new medicine that can help you—or—or, fuck! I don't know! But what if the breakthrough comes the day after you die? You'll waste the whole rest of your life!"

"Yao-!"

Silence.

"Look, I'm not expecting you to be happy about this, but that's what it is! Time is precious, so why should we goad ourselves into being dishonest? I'm dying. I'll be amazed if I last another two years. And it's not just me-"

"I've told you a thousand times I don't mind helping you! Why don't you understand I'd do anything to see you better?! If you go kill yourself in Switzerland you'd waste it all anyway!"

"And if I die in Russia next year, it's the same damn thing with more time and effort wasted! I won't survive this! Why is that so hard to accept?!"

"Because you're my oldest friend and I don't want you to kill yourself!"

There was a long set of seconds that the two just stared at one another. Yao was breathing hard with his brows bent into a train wreck and his teeth crunching over something to say.

He always tried to hide it underneath his skin and bury it inside those light brown eyes, but the exhaustion had graphed itself onto his soul.

Ivan offered sympathy.

And Yao ran outside.

The door opened and shut behind him in a flash, and for a long time, he stood out there—in the front yard, with the snow and wind chill and the piles of hard ice in every direction.

He touched his face sometimes. And he caught his breath with deep, gaping sighs that sometimes came to the tune of his heart beat.

And Ivan felt tired, so he stumbled back to bed and hoped Yao would come back in soon.


	4. Chapter 4

The day they met was a sunny winter day framed by vibrant red curtains with golden rope holding them together. Someone had lead Yao into his office; one of the various, serious faced Russians that addressed him with respect and a controlled level of intrigue at seeing a Chinese man who could speak the language.

It was fun to think they used to be important.

Ivan was sitting at his desk, just before that enormous snow day window, with his striking bright blue eyes and practically white blond hair.

Yao's hand sank inside Ivan's during the shake and the introduction jumble. He looked too large for the bureau, like an inappropriate stuffed animal dead center in a miniature doll's tea party. The light smell of tobacco, paper and ink wafted off from his uniform and they got to talking.

It sort of went like that every day. Yao would come in. They'd exchange words for a couple of minutes and Ivan would hand over the mix of Cyrillic and Chinese characters and some of the in between.

There were times when Yao had to translate, sign, interpret, write. The job title was murky like sewer water and provided hardly a moment for thought concerning anything but the Soviet Union and its mountains of unsurpassable jargon.

One time Ivan invited Yao to dinner.

And then at some point, they built a snow man.

And another time, they sat on a park bench talking shit, smoking Cuban cigars and drinking vodka on a day off.

Whenever Ivan laughed the joy would roll over him and land inside his stomach, where both of those enormous hands sat to hold it all in. His face would get really pink because his skin was so free of pigment. It wasn't something he did a lot; laughing like that. Like a lot of people in Moscow, Ivan wore that Eastern European poker face for just about everyone else. But sometimes they were alone, watching propaganda or chilling outside with a couple of cigarettes and alcohol, laughing it up about something or other.

It was hard to find an activity they hadn't done together at some point.

And now, something like twenty years later, Yao sat on the same porch Ivan had owner for decades, smoking a roll of thick tobacco and watching the snow flutter on down from the sky.

The whole thing kind of left a sour taste in his mouth.

Since Communism buckled all those years ago, and people were allowed to believe in God again, Yao had read a lot of pamphlets and heard a lot of speeches about the beauty in the world. They always gave Jesus all the credit. But it was hard to think of anything like that, when you've seen so much Hell. When death holds your family's shoulders and stares at you in the face every time you look at them. Especially on days like this. When the snow cut like a thousand tiny knives the size of needles and the cigarette was just about burned to the filter and there's that bloody coughing coming in from the next room, that's _so_ loud and starts all the way at the base of his spine.

Yao looked up at the sky.

Then he flicked the butt into the snow and went back inside.


	5. Chapter 5

There were a couple of days that passed without many words between Ivan and Yao. No one changed their mind. No one started a discussion. The hours just scrapped by inside a cripplingly awkward silence, with a little more emotion than usual. Static spread apart between them.

And it snowed. It snowed and snowed.

At one point, they watched television together, before Yao went home and Ivan went to bed. The pictures spit out noise while moving about, casting shadows on either of their faces. And that's all it really was. Either of them were sinking into thought thicker than stone. That old picture box said some words and flashed an array of colors neither of them cared to really look at.

Ivan's lips smacked together.

"You can go home now, if you want to." His voice was small. Solemn. "I think you should take a break anyway. You don't have to come back tomorrow. I think I'm feeling alright enough to…" But those words stopped and those heavy dark blond brows knitted themselves together.

Yao sighed. "No; I'll probably come tomorrow."

Ivan didn't really speak.

"Hey, are you-" But then the words went sky diving into a trench full up with sticky black mud, but Yao couldn't' recall them. And even if he could, he wouldn't. Because they were too heavy and serious even for a moment like this one. Then his black brows knitted together and his friend looked just as grave. "Nothing. Never mind."

The white noise stuck itself inside the spaces of their conversation.

"No, what is it?"

"It's nothing. Seriously."

Then Yao's abnormally round eyes ran into Ivan's abnormally blue eyes and in the greatest way, they had it out. And there was that enormous neon-rainbow, loud, honking elephant in the room. The one that made Yao's mouth pucker with something to say and Ivan's ears open up wide to receive it.

The Russian's lips parted and closed once. And then the same seriousness. Then finally, "I know it makes you unhappy, but I was serious…About-" Stop. Stare. "You probably don't want to talk about it either, but it's important to me. So I thought I should let you know that I purchased the tickets to Switzerland for two months from now."

"_Tickets?_"

"You're coming with me."

"_Ivan-_"

"Yao, I need you to support me. I know I'm putting a lot on you, but it's going to be over soon, and I have no one else worth naming."

"_That's just sixty days!_"

"I know."

All over again, Yao's mind went reeling back to the day they met, all those decades ago. Then it went reeling back forward to this bloody situation and the frigid winter air, which seemed worse now than it ever was in Russia. And to the bags under Ivan's pleasant blue eyes and the exhaustion set deeply into the marrow of his bones.

A huge heavy lump formed in his throat, just thinking about it. But Yao couldn't let it free, this Pandora's Box of a cluster fuck inside his neck. So his breathing got kind of rigid and his eyes blinked about sixty times. Until he pulled himself together by the stitches in his heart and took a large, gaping breath.

"I don't want you to die, Ivan. I don't want to watch-"

Somehow those chords found some resolve to carry on.

"You said this is for me, but I don't get it."

Ivan tried to get up, to put a hand on his shoulder, or just _something_ but it was impossible. So he sat down and caught his breath. "Well. I don't really expect you to get it now. You're focusing on the wrong things. But you'll get it later, when you figure out how to be happy for me. But don't worry now. Don't worry about anything. Just take some solace in the fact that it's not your decision to make and you don't _have _to worry about it."

Yao was dead silent save for the noisy breathing.

"I think I just want to go home now." Huff and puff. "Why don't I put you to bed so I can leave?"

"Sure. Whatever you want."

So Yao drove home and didn't sleep and didn't sleep and then slept a little. And he went back the next day at six o'clock in the morning.

There were a hundred thousand things clinging to the inside of his skull. They all bunched up there in the cruelty that makes insomnia. Yao even started to go somewhat mad and see pink dots out of the corners of his eyes while his hand slipped here and there around the bright golden door knob.

Then the portal opened and the wood broke away from the frame, letting in the sound of low sobbing to the crisp white cold around Yao's pink ears. He followed quickly to the bathroom, where Ivan was hunched over the toilet bowl, blood trickling down his chin with crystalline tears that welled inside his eyes, raw and red along the edges.

It was one of those days. When his insides boiled in a pit of Hell fire. Ivan told him it felt like barbed wire and thorns replaced his bones. Like someone stole his blood and put needles in its place.

Another round of throw up went spilling into the bowl while two drops of sweat made lines against his flesh, starting up at his hair line and down to the frame of his face.

Ivan rested his cheek against the rim of the bowl while his flesh sweltered red and his breath hitched.

Then there was one single moment of clarity where Ivan said:

"I wish it was over."

Right after that a sob shook him like a bowling ball crashing into pins.

"I just want to go outside."

Yao was close enough to help, but he couldn't react. It lasted a couple seconds before he spat out, "What do you want me to do?"

But Ivan didn't answer. He just caught up with those huge, unkind, razor sharp lungs and closed his eyes while some salt water came out his eyes to dig holes in his cheeks. Then his huge body got Yao and tugged him in. His face peaked out above that broad shoulder, near Ivan's neck and right against that light blond, tangled hair.

And Yao got him back.

Ivan's bones could be felt against the smaller man's arms. That large, miserable body made up like a sack full of misery and a skeleton.

Their inhaling and exhaling synched up.

And Yao took the brunt of Ivan's fatigue.

And he started to get it.


	6. Chapter 6

It was two weeks before either of them went to Switzerland and both Ivan and Yao were sitting outside, each with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The snow didn't seem so cold today. And it only fell from the sky in small flakes that accumulated as little crystals all over the men's clothes.

The cigarette smoke came out like breath from a chimney.

Ivan cleared his throat.

"I think if I have one regret, I wish I would have gotten married. Or at least fallen in love." Those cool lips closed around the filter and some of the tobacco burned into ash. "I've always wondered what it was like to be someone's husband. But I think the only woman who's ever liked me was that crazy bitch Natasha."

Yao rose up his eyebrows and looked to his friend. "I remember her. I'd bet at least a hundred Euros she had a shrine dedicated to you in her closet."

Ivan laughed a little. His old bones creaked some as he leaned a little further back in his chair. "She'd always leave me little gifts on my desk. Luckily, they transferred her from our department before she got to the dead squirrels and the human hands."

Yao smiled some. "Well, what kind of woman would you marry?"

"Who could even say? I guess a girl who was nice to me. Someone attractive too. Maybe if you asked me thirty years ago, I'd say a blond girl with nice tits, but I don't know how that would have turned out. It seems like the really pretty ones are always terrors anyway. How about you?"

There was a puff of smoke before Yao gave an answer. "I guess I'd want someone who was good at cooking. It would be disappointing to marry the girl you fell in love with and it turns out she could scorch water. Someone pretty too."

Both of them looked out into the landscape for a compilation of seconds. Where a few cars passed on the old, gray road hidden beneath a thin layer of mushy snow. Beyond that, the sky was almost white with snow clouds, aside from one spot where the sun poked out its face. The light made the blanket of compact frost look like it was made up of diamonds in some places.

Ivan breathed out the last bit of his cigarette and extinguished it in the tray sitting between them. "Yao, do you think in Chinese or Russian?"

"I don't know. Mostly when I'm speaking, I'll think in Russian, but if I'm alone, I'll think in Chinese. I talk to my cat in Chinese. I don't think she understands any other language."

"How about your dreams?"

"They're mostly in Russian."

"That's really cool." Ivan took a sip of beer, which was held inside a frozen glass bottle.

_Aah… _

"I kind of wish I got to do something like that too."

"You can speak English though."

"Yeah, but I've never really had a dream in English. Sometimes, certain characters would come up, and they might say a couple of words. In my dream, I always thought they were fluent but the grammar was probably wrong and they all had Russian accents."

"Well, sometimes my grammar is wrong."

"It's really not."

"But I have an accent, right?"

"Well, it's funny to hear you say some words. But I'd say your Russian is pretty good."

"Which words can't I say?"

"I can't name any off the top of my head."

"Come on, Ivan. You can't tell me that I can't pronounce some words and _not_ tell me which ones."

"Alright. Fine. I think you have trouble with the '_Щ_' sound."

"Sh Ch?"

"See, look. You're putting too much space between the sh and the ch. It's more like_Щ._"

"I'd like to see you say something in Chinese."

"Well, I don't speak Chinese. Besides, we're talking about your atrocious accent, not mine. Try it with me. Щ."

"You're lucky you're a cripple or I might throw a snow ball at you."

"Come on. Try it with me._ Щ._"

"I've been in this country for thirty years and _now_ you're going to help me with my accent?"

"No, no—you're not_ doing_ it. _Щ._"

"I'm not _going_ to do it. You can just go sh ch yourself, because I'm going inside."

"You're still putting too much space between the sh and the ch!"

Yao was getting up.

The door shut behind him.

"Yao!"

The Chinese man just looked through the glass.

"Yao, come back! I'm sorry!"

'No!'

"_Come on!_ Can't you see that I _love_ you? How can you leave me? I thought we were friends!" Ivan shook around in his chair, as if taken with grief. "Don't you see how you've hurt me?" _Gasp. _"_I'll die!_"

You could tell that Yao was trying not to laugh. Those lips folded up at the edges and there was a kind of happiness in his eyes. But there was still the thinly veiled seriousness accompanied by a cheap plastic frown and eyebrows that didn't quite know what to do with themselves.

Ivan started to fake cry.

"Good God!" The door opened back up. "You're such a drama queen." And Yao sat back down, starting another cigarette. The smoke came in intervals that made it look like a signal.

They were both silently chuckling. A deep rolling laugh that wasn't allowed past their mouths.

"Oh, by the way, you also need help with your 'r's."

"I hate you."

There was another round of mirth, and Ivan and Yao went back to smoking and drinking.


	7. Chapter 7

The deadline came. Ivan and Yao packed their things. Just the basics, because they would only be in Switzerland for a few days. There seemed to be some kind of Noah's ark with inanimate objects. Two tooth brushes. Two combs. Two sets of clothing. Two dull brown suitcases that were both at least thirty years old. Back from the days when they were communists and went places for business and not for death.

They were some of the only people who were allowed.

There wasn't much protest anymore. Now there was only early morning silence that sat in either of their mouths and filled up their eyes with exhausted black holes. But Ivan was resolved. The solemn misery that took up his sad face as replaced with relief. An embrace of the pain in all his muscles and bones. His expression stopped being so heavy. Now it was light and composed of bright blue eyes. The kind he had when he was a much younger man.

Because, ultimately, Ivan had won. Even if some people would say he cheated. After all, Death isn't supposed to be a game anyone wins. Maybe not even Life either. But Ivan won.

They reached the airport and Ivan got his one way boarding pass and Yao his two-way, and slowly but surely, they walked stiffly through the lines and security and customs to eventually sit in two open, old chairs cushioned by dull blue, fraying fabric that looked like it could have been made in the 90's.

Ivan crossed his weighty arms over his lap.

"I think I'm glad I'm doing this in Switzerland."

Yao raised his tired eyes to meet Ivan's liberated glance. "What makes you say that?"

"Well." The other started. "It's sort of like a vacation, isn't it?"

The Chinese man just knitted his brows.

"Come on now. We can both do something like sightseeing. And eat different food and have a fun time as much as we can. If I had to stay in Russia it wouldn't be anything like that. I've seen most of this country anyway. I've been eating Russian food all my Russian life; been breathing Russian air. It will be good to see some new things before I go."

Yao didn't really know what to say.

"Well-" Ivan started. "Thank you for supporting me all this time, Yao. I want to let you know that I'm leaving you everything, to pay you back for your loyalty."

His bottom lip went sky diving while his tongue and teeth tried to work themselves into coherent language. But there was only a confusing mix of Chinese and Russian fit to make his brain explode.

All he came up with was: "You know; it's not too late to turn back."

"I don't want to turn back. This is what I've decided."

Silence. "Alright." Yao said.

Then there was that disembodied voice, coming on over the loud speaker that said they would be boarding in three minutes.

"I'm going to go smoke a cigarette. Before we leave."

"Of course." Ivan leaned back. "I'll be here. Where you left me."

Then there was sort of an ironic smile that sent Yao's mind reeling.

But he got up and took a cigarette from his shirt pocket, moving to the cold sliding door just a few paces away.


	8. Chapter 8

They got to the hotel room after a long taxi ride from the airport. And Ivan was on the phone with the doctor he would be meeting with, speaking English with a Russian accent that was thick as wool. There were pauses in his speech, where he had to collect all the sounds together and make the words. And it was hard, because it had been a long time but from the sound of it, the doctor had an accent too.

Just an hour before, Ivan was glancing out the back window of a small compact car, looking at those beautiful clouds soaked up in afternoon light, even though the winter breathed all over the scene in tiny flakes of cool snow.

Everything was so urban. The whole area had a big, loud heartbeat that ran through it in the form of cars that passed through its veins and all the people rushing about with somewhere to be. And there was so much lively noise and quick German spouted everywhere. The whole thing came out in vibrant colors and made up a painting, including the inhabitants and their vibrant clothing with their blond and brown hair.

Their eyes all stood out like jewels.

And even the brown eyes came with rings of pretty gold.

While Ivan spoke his bent-up English, Yao sat at the small table contained within their room, looking at the pile of food he had just went out and bought. His companion allotted him a small list of things and a large amount of cash with the instruction to "Go crazy." There were gorgeous, over priced cupcakes stuffed with chocolate pudding, two lovely sandwiches made in the deli just across the street from the grocery store, and a handsome bottle of classy vodka, complete with a sweet grapefruit flavor. Yao also picked out a few bags of chips with confusing German lettering all over them. He judged their taste by the pictures.

Ivan's voice rang out suddenly.

"Please to hold on. What test I take?"

The hotel room itself looked a little less wealthy than the make-shift buffet laid out on the cheap plastic table. There were two beds with plainly colored sheets and light yellow walls that the bright bulbs magnified and dyed white in their sockets. Then, before the feet of either of the mattresses sat a television complete with a DVD player and from where Yao sat the smell of the bathroom floated into the rest of chamber. It was a collaboration featuring the smell of fragrant soap, bleach and possible shower mold.

The Chinese man caught a portrait of some Swiss mountains hanging against the wall. It was an imitation photograph that resembled an image you might find on a postcard.

In fact, Yao had seen a few inline at the store just a short while beforehand.

"Okay. I see you in three hour. Thank you."

There was a pause and then Ivan hung up by dominating his small cell phone with his large thumb. Then that small rectangle of untold and wasted potential was placed shakily back into his shirt pocket. And Ivan looked to Yao.

"If everything goes as planned, I'm set for the day after tomorrow. They want to test my sanity to make sure I'm of sound mind, and to see how well I can drink. The lady explained to me that I have to drink the whole cup at once, or else I'll just go to sleep for a while and wake back up again later." Pause. "How was your trip to the store?"

"It was fine. The woman at check out looked at me funny because I didn't say anything to her, but we got everything figured out. I also bought these sandwiches from a place close to here. I have no idea what's inside them—they were premade. But they looked pretty good." For a moment Yao's lips crunched together and his mouth went ajar. But there weren't any words. His attention went out the window, into the city around them, so full up of vivid activity.

One long blink that made the whites around his pupils burn.

"I've had a long time to think about this whole thing and I'm finding it hard to believe that we're sitting in a hotel in Switzerland right now. But I want you to know that I think I've found a way to be okay with this. I think. It would be selfish of me to demand that you stay, especially when this damn illness makes life so difficult and painful. I guess it's just tough to picture it this way."

"Yeah. You're right. But I don't want you to be sad."

Yao looked back to his friend.

"I mean, I hope you miss me. I'll be sort of disappointed if you don't. But don't bother with dwelling. I don't want you to dwell on it at all. That's even part of the reason I've decided to do this. You'd be troubled everyday for the next several years, and I can't be in pain that long. But if you dwell on it and you're always miserable for me, you won't have even an ounce of freedom. And I probably won't either, knowing I'll be dooming you to that turmoil. So promise you won't be sad for me. I lived a pretty good life. Be happy so I can die easy."

"Ivan-"

The whole thing, whatever the hell all this was, ripped the coherency right from Yao's mouth and replaced it with a broken jaw. It chewed like a bloody mess of cancer stuck somehow in between his crooked teeth. Between Ivan's verbal contract and the pen made up of static emotions clenched in his hand, Yao felt like he was paralyzed.

This scene here—in this dust covered hotel room, felt like a grand section of a horrid dream. But it was too well thought out. All this shit made a painful amount of sense and struck like a bright ray of sunshine on a crystal clear summer day. The light was blinding.

Yao couldn't even wish to open his eyes right now.

"What can I even say to that? How can I be happy for you?"

"I won't be in pain anymore."

"But Ivan—you've already dragged me here with the guarantee that I'll have to watch you die. How can you make me promise that I won't be miserable? I know I can't make you stay here, but I can't even guess how I'll feel after this whole thing."

"I know I'm asking a lot, but you'll see. I just need you to promise me you'll move on."

A struggle. "Alright." Then he sighed. "I promise."

"Good. Thank you."

Ivan stood up, riding up tall on those long, broken legs stiff like planks of wood.

"Why don't we find a spot outside?"

He took a few steps forward, fighting. But so fucking determined.

"Will you bring those sandwiches and chips?"

And Yao really had no choice but to comply.


	9. Chapter 9

Ivan passed his exam. He drank the entire cup of water and was of perfectly sound mind.

So they were good to go and no one really knew what to think.

That morning, Ivan woke up sick. He threw up and then lied in bed for an hour before insisting that they go outside that day. He said the cold might even help numb those screaming, cramping muscles that had set themselves a flame, just beneath his flesh.

They found a bench in the middle of the city, eating soft, warm bread and drinking the vodka Yao bought yesterday. A sort of quiet surrounded them the way that unkind chill did. But it wasn't as bad as the familiar Russian cold. This winter, even if it actually wasn't, seemed somewhat softer and less cruel. The drops of snow didn't come in balls the size of your first. Just small flakes that melted the moment they made contact with anything warm.

"Ivan, what are we going to do today?"

The Russian man was smoking a cigarette. "We're going to eat lunch. And then I want to go back to the hotel room and relax."

"That sounds good."

The breath and the exhale from the tobacco all came out at once, causing a grand puff of grey smoke to stumble into the air. Then Ivan sucked in a huge breath to fill up those tired lungs. The cold air numbed up his insides. That was nice.

"Yeah. I thought so too."

Pause. Yao lit up. "Are you feeling better since this morning?"

And Ivan thought for a second. "I don't really know. But doesn't really matter." Exhale. "Even if it kills me, I'm going to have a nice day today." His mouth turned into a wry smile that Yao could only answer with another, similar curve of the lips. Then they both turned away and pushed out the filthy air from deep in their lungs. Up towards the sky where the sun trickled out from beneath a thick layer of snow clouds. They were built up like a stack of pillows, but the light still found a way to stab through. It was amazing they weren't a darker grey.

"Yao, do you think you'll stay for a couple days after tomorrow?"

"No. I only left my cat enough food for the few days I left. She's going to be pissed off too, because I didn't have the time to explain where I was going. Or why. But I've got nothing to do here anyway. I mean, it's not like I have much of a choice anyway, right? The flight leaves tomorrow evening."

"Oh, I just thought you might reschedule. Actually. I forgot your ticket goes two ways." Ivan stood up, shaken with some sort of earthquake, and then made a sigh larger than he was. "Let's go somewhere nearby. And hopefully they'll have a menu _one _of us can read."

Yao got up as well. "Are we still going to do the same for dinner?"

"No. I figured I'd make you run to the grocery store again. Those sandwiches were pretty good last night…"

And Ivan trudged his way through the snow for his friend to follow.

The walk was slow and steady, the way a heavy train would force its way forward. The worry Ivan normally carried around when it came to moving had dissolved into something else. It was some mixture of determination and maybe even apathy towards that stupid fucking pain. Because it got to the point that Ivan was exhausted of being exhausted. There was no choice but to pull out all the stops.

Yao looked up at him, which brought his attention into the soft sky light.

And he discovered there was no reason to worry about Ivan Braginski anymore. Not when he wouldn't bother worrying either.


	10. Chapter 10

The morning of Tomorrow came, bringing a far away feeling that eased into the whole room and eventually crashed. The two gathered the few things they would need.

And just before it was time to go plunging into the unknown, Ivan stood by the window.

It was still snowing but light shined onto his face and lit it up like something golden. Those beautiful blue eyes shined like two gems underneath a polished glass case. They were precious and valuable, just begging to get stolen.

That large hand, that didn't shake anymore, wiped the discharge from his cheeks. A little bit of salt water that got onto his tongue.

"Yao…What do you think it's like?"

The Chinese man was standing halfway towards the door, with a wrist jammed into his pocket and the other wrapped around their bag of bills and chocolate.

"I don't know Ivan. I couldn't possibly come up with an answer to satisfy you."

"No." Ivan said. "You're right." Then he rose up out of the chair. "Let's get going."


	11. Chapter 11

They were rolling through the ice and snow inside the car they had rented, towards the small house that would accept both of them and then spit one of them out.

Ivan sat with an ice cold bottle of soda in one hand and a burning cigarette in the other, fighting off the pain that came back and forth in waves. But it didn't seem as horrible as it normally was— the way it came and crunched him up like a dead spider with all his limbs rolling towards him.

Those deep blue eyes closed, and his face was soaked in the sweet light that trickled down gently from the linings of the snow clouds, breathing deeply.

"Yao, what do you think you're going to do when you get back?"

There was a long silence as the two rolled over a collection of slush.

"I'm not sure. I think I might go back to China for a little while. It's been a long time since I've been back home." Then Yao's words caught like a sewing machine bunching up thread. "I don't say that because of you. I doubt I would have gone back during that time anyway. But I've found, just recently, that I often think in Russian. It's almost constant unless I talk to my cat." Pause. "She only understands Chinese."

Yao flicked his attention over to Ivan, who was listening quietly with his eyes still closed. He took a drink of soda and Yao looked back to the road.

"I'm sorry I made fun of the way you shch. You speak Russian extremely well."

"It's okay. I know I can't say it. That was funny anyway."

"Yeah, it was."

And for the next set of minutes, they drove towards the little blue house situated in the middle of nowhere, arriving just to park in a foot of snow. Then they sat in the car with the engine still going, while Ivan gulped down the rest of his soda.

The Russian opened the door to a gust of freezing air. It was brisk and made you altogether too aware of your lungs. It dried out your throat.

"I'm ready." Ivan said. His large body dominated that tiny, European car with its weight, because his legs were twisting into knots and it was impossible to stand on his own.

And Yao turned the engine off and locked the door, to assist his friend to the front steps.

The door opened to reveal a living space shoved together with a hospital. There was a couch and a bed in the next room over—covered with an assortment of blankets. But there was still some of that high tech equipment that took your blood pressure, or did this or that and the other thing, but also functioned to worry anyone standing in the room and made the whole set-up feel like it was made of plastic.

The same woman who checked Ivan's sanity showed them around and led them to a table in the middle of the main room, where they could sit while everything else was put together.

Yao's heart was beating all the way up in his throat. There was trepidation in his veins, this kind of edginess that cut his stomach sixteen ways and made it feel less like a stomach and more like a box full of throw-up.

But Ivan's bright blue eyes slashed through it and his mouth gave a tired sort of smile. "Why don't we have some chocolate?"

The bag they had brought from the hotel was choked at the neck inside Yao's sweaty hand. But he managed to unclench his grip and pour out all of the Swiss chocolate they had collected during the trip.

Ivan calmly took one and popped it into his mouth.

"Yao, I'm sorry I dragged you all the way here. But I'm glad you decided to come. Or at least, let me decide for you. I really needed your help."

Then there was a rise in the opposite. One that he had to swallow because it boiled beneath his eyes.

"Yeah. Of course."

A part of him wanted to ask if Ivan was really sure about this. If he really wanted to go through with it to the end. But Yao couldn't. He had already asked a thousand times and there was no reason to doubt Ivan's certainty at this point. If he had any qualms or conundrums about the moments that were about to come, he wouldn't be sitting here with resolution on his face, eating chocolate and waiting for a serum to take the flavor and pain away.

"I mean—You didn't have to force me. You didn't. I would have come with you even if you had decided to go alone."

Ivan smiled and ate another piece of chocolate.

The woman reappeared, carrying a tray of two fluids in those little cups you might find at the dentist's office.

"Mr. Braginski, please let me know when you're ready. And if you're unsure about anything, you can stop at any time. You don't have to do this." Every word came with a thick accent. And Ivan answered back with an even heavier one.

"No. I am not unsure. And I think I am ready now." He managed to stand up with his eyes squeezed together. "I would like to sit on that couch there."

"Yes, of course."

Yao couldn't really understand what they were saying, but he didn't really need to. He had already stood up when Ivan had, with his crux falling down from his throat and all the way into his knees as if going through a chute.

They helped one another to the couch and the woman handed those two, lethal, tiny cups to the Russian man. Her finger pointed to the one in his right hand while a long trail of disorienting English followed. "You drink this one first and this one second. Also, try and drink the entire thing at once, because if you only take small sips, you will only sleep. You might feel like you need to throw up, but that's normal. You can also stop at any time."

Ivan nodded and turned to Yao.

"Thank you for everything."

Then he kissed him on the cheek.

"You've been a great friend."

The speechlessness pulled the Chinese man's throat together like a child pulling too roughly on the strings of a bag. One of his arms had involuntarily wrapped around Ivan's back and the other poised to catch him as if he was about ready to topple over.

Ivan had finished the first cup.

"You've been a really great friend too."

Then he started on the second.

"I'm going to miss you."

Then he finished the second cup and took a heavy breath.

"Don't miss me too much."

Breath.

Ivan fell a little more heavily into Yao's arms.

"Life isn't supposed to be miserable."

His speech sort of slurred.

And Ivan seemed to go to sleep. And his last couple of breaths stretched out into about a minute. Before it all stopped and his soul left those closed blue eyes like a soft and wavering wind. The moment was fleeting, but Ivan had a permanent and ever lasting peace on his face. It was free of agony and filled with a contemplative silence.

And his body was no longer so heavy, even though it was limp. It always felt like it weighed two tons, when everything cramped together.

Yao's face was buried inside Ivan's shoulder. It collected the tears being thrown from the smaller man's eyes.

When the Russian's body was finally set against the couch Yao stuffed his expression into his hands. Everything fell out. Everything he had been saying since Ivan told him about this stupid idea he had about going to Switzerland.

The woman was saying something in English.

Yao simply shook his head.

"I just want to go outside." He said in Russian.

"I just want to go outside." He said in Chinese.

Then Yao got up and found the entrance to the garden, which was simple and covered in snow. It faced the road they used to come here and the road Yao would use to leave. And as he wiped the tears from his eyes, which were freezing in place like all the small ponds in Russia during the winter, those amber brown irises caught a piece of the sky. The snow clouds surrounded all the blue like a weighty fur coat, but the light still found a way down to this little azure house in Switzerland.

And just for a second, warmth came—all the way from the sun, and the cold breeze stopped in respect. Yao looked at those gorgeous plants asleep and drenched in the picturesque snow. And he looked at all those cars passing by, just as he used to on Ivan's porch.

The last few tears were wiped away, and Yao sucked in the cool air, so he could find his lungs.

Ivan had died on a beautiful day.

Yao stretched out his body and went back inside.


End file.
